


One of Those People

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Post War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-21
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: As a child, Harry learned that Christmas was only for certain people and that he just wasn't one of them. Somewhere along the line though, Ron managed to change the way Harry saw Christmas, and himself.





	One of Those People

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: **Beta:** Huge thanks to [](http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hel-bee.livejournal.com/)**hel_bee** , for fixing my grammar and giving me some much need help with Christmas britisms. And of course, for doing such a fast beta job so I could post this Christmas story with plenty of time to share it with you all.  


* * *

When Harry was really little he had all sorts of extraordinary ideas about what Christmas was supposed to be like. Fantastical fantasies full of presents, trees and it’s decorations, sweets, laughing and sharing things.

Or at least, that’s what Harry supposed Christmas was like for people who were loved; for those who were wanted.

Harry wasn’t ever exactly sure why, but he knew he wasn’t one of those people. If the Dursleys did one thing, it was to ensure that Harry never forgot this fact.

His aunt and uncle never really let him watch any of the Christmas programs on the telly. They told him it was a special treat reserved for only certain types of people. He never found out who those type of people were supposed to be either. Sometimes though, after they’d made him go to sleep - or at least go to this cupboard - he would sneak back out and lay his head down on the floor listening to the laughter and carols echo off the walls and trickle out into the darkened hallway where he lay silently on the floor. Once, when he was really lucky, they forgot to shut the door all the way and he actually got to watch as Father Christmas came down the chimney.

As he got a bit older, he started to understand that his Christmases were probably never going to be like the ones he’d dreamt of. He realized that Dudley would always get all the presents, all the attention, and all the love.

***♥*♥*♥***

_Harry looks around the room nervously. His aunt and uncle aren’t up yet and it’s the perfect opportunity for him to get a good look at all the decorations, and especially the tree._

_Walking into the lounge he sucks in a little breath of air in excitement. The tree is covered in tinsel and shining fairy lights and there are presents everywhere. In fact, it looks as if the entire room, even the armchairs and sofa, have been overrun with gifts covered in all sorts of gleaming ribbons and bows._

_Reaching out he touches one of the glass balls hanging from the tree. It sways back and forth lightly, the light from the window reflecting off it’s surface and making it look like it’s glowing - like magic._

_Harry can’t help but smile._

_Looking up he sees a very large stocking hanging from the chimney. It’s practically overflowing with sweets. There’s only one stocking though, and Harry knows it’s for Dudley. He’s pretty sure there aren’t any presents for him either, but he can’t help but look. Crawling around on his hands and knees, careful not to disturb any of the gifts, he scrupulously reads all the nametags._

_Just as Harry had suspected, there are none for him._

_Harry stares at the tree a bit longer before he realizes that the sounds he’s hearing upstairs are the Dursleys waking up. He quickly runs back to his cupboard and shuts the door just as Dudley runs down the stairs. His whale of a cousin immediately tearing into the packages and throwing the gifts carelessly to the side in favor of another._

_Harry watches dejectedly as a small, soft looking teddy bear gets stepped on and forgotten under the sofa._

_Completely forgotten._

***♥*♥*♥***

Harry had tried writing a few letters to Father Christmas when he was little, and he never asked for much. There was the one year he wanted a teddy bear, and another year he’d desperately wanted a toy action figure he’d seen through the window when he’d been shopping with Aunt Petunia. Most of all though, he remembers the year he told Father Christmas he would stop being bad like his aunt told him he was, even though he never knew exactly what it was he was doing wrong, if Father Christmas would just bring him some parents. Or even just a mum, just to tuck him in and hold him when he was sick. He’d even promised not to fuss or act like a baby and cry.

Father Christmas never came though.

***♥*♥*♥***

_“Aunt Petunia, can I please have a pen and paper,” Harry asks timidly. He knows she probably won’t give it to him, but this is important. He has to ask._

_His aunt peers down at him suspiciously, as if he were a large bug and not a tiny six year old boy in pajamas on Christmas Eve._

_“What do you want them for?”_

_Harry flinches. Her harsh voice always startles him a bit._

_“Um, well, I wanted to write a letter to Father Christmas.” He’s far too young to realize that telling the truth, that giving them any idea of what might make him happy, will only make things harder for him._

_She begins to laugh, but it’s too clipped and harsh to be happy. “You silly, silly boy. You cannot possibly think Father Christmas would bring anything to you. Father Christmas only brings things to well-behaved, handsome, little boys like my precious Dudikins. He doesn’t bring presents to bothersome, messy, funny-looking little boys who are nothing but trouble. Now go back to your cupboard. It‘s almost time for Dudley to put out the mince pies for Father Christmas and I don‘t want you getting in the way.”_

_Harry bites his lip to stop from crying._

***♥*♥*♥***

When Harry was eleven, he finally spent his first Christmas away from the Durselys. He still hadn’t expected presents or grandeur or any of the other things he’d dreamt about when he was little. He still didn’t think he was the kind of person that got those sorts of things.

He was just expecting a chance to finally celebrate something happy in a place where he finally felt welcome. Somewhere he felt like just might belong.

He’d had no idea it might be so much more.

***♥*♥*♥***

_“Harry! Harry! Wake up! It’s Christmas.” Ron’s shouts echo through the empty dormitory._

_Harry rolls over onto his left side, pushing open the curtains around his bed._

_It is still a bit hard for him to believe that Ron is staying here at the castle with him over the break. Sure, Ron has his reasons for staying and they aren’t solely just for Harry, but Harry has never shared Christmas with someone who actually likes being around him and he‘s delighted. He’s never had a Christmas with the prospect of all the food and sweets he wanted; of being able to freely touch the tree and decorations without fear of being scolded; of sharing things and laughing and playing._

_“Get started on your presents, mate!”_

_Harry looks down at the base of his bed, to the small pile of presents awaiting him._

_“Who are these for, then?” Harry asks a bit hesitantly._

_Ron looks over at him and Harry can’t really tell if he is amused or embarrassed. “They’re for you, of course. I might’ve told my mum you wouldn’t be getting anything and, well, you know.” Harry doesn’t really know. He’s never had gifts, or a mum, but he nods anyway as Ron makes wild hand gestures. “And that one on the left is from Hagrid, I’ve gotten one of them as well.” Ron ducks his head back down when he‘s done talking, making a pretense of opening the last of his gifts._

_Harry reaches down and grabs the closest package, opening it carefully. By the time he finishes he has amassed more gifts piled at the end of his bed than he has ever had in his entire life. Except, looking over towards Ron, the gifts don’t seem to mean so much anymore. He finally has someone to share them with, and that means a whole lot more._

_For the first time, Harry thinks that maybe one day he can be one of those people that matter. Even if it’s just to one person._

***♥*♥*♥***

_It was quite a long time before Harry finally realized just how wrong his aunt and uncle had been about him, and about what made Christmas special, what made things important and what made them matter._

_It was even longer before Harry really understood what it meant to really matter to someone else, and for someone else to matter to you even more; before he understood that those two things were so closely intertwined that you couldn’t really have one without the other._

_***♥*♥*♥*** _

_Harry rolls onto his side, clutching the covers tighter around his neck to try and ward off the cold. It is utterly freezing and as far as Harry is concerned there is absolutely nothing worth getting out a warm, soft bed for. Especially not so early._

_“Harry! Harry, wake up. It’s Christmas!”_

_Harry groans a bit, the sound muffled as he presses his face into the pillow. He raises his head, peering slightly at the small, blurred clock on the bedside table. Without his glasses on he can’t really read the time, but he thinks he sees something that looks suspiciously like a five._

_In all the years that he’s known Ron, he has never once been able to wait until a decent hour to get up on Christmas morning. Every single other day of the year he’s content to sleep like the dead. He’ll sleep through Harry’s prodding, through Harry’s complaining, through Harry’s laughing. He even once slept through Harry’s early morning advances at sex. But on Christmas, Ron is always up at the crack of dawn; awake and as excited as a small child on their first Christmas._

_Bracing himself, he throws back the covers and shivers at the chill that assaults him._

_“It’s bloody cold!” Harry yells, shoving his feet into his slippers and making his way into the living room._

_“Then let me warm you up,” Ron tells him cheerfully, embracing Harry from behind. Ron wraps his arms around Harry, placing his warm hands beneath Harry’s shirt, lightly rubbing the muscles underneath. Harry smiles contentedly, leaning back and relaxing into Ron’s strong embrace. Ron kisses Harry’s ear, then the side of neck, and all the way down to the small area at the base of Harry’s neck where the hair just barely covers and places a tender kiss there too._

_“Mmm, if you insist.” Harry is practically purring from Ron’s affectionate ministrations._

_Ron pulls back, tugging Harry over towards the front of the fireplace, or more precisely, towards the large pile of presents just waiting to be opened._

_Harry laughs. “I see how it is now, Weasley. You’re just trying to butter me up so you can open your presents aren’t you?”_

_Ron’s responding smile would be enough to make Harry let him have anything he wanted, if he hadn’t already committed to that a long time ago._

_“Hey now, I’m not trying to get away with anything. It is Christmas morning and I am fully within my rights to open my Christmas presents. I was simply hoping the one I love might share in this momentous occasion within me.”_

_Harry bites his lip to keep from smiling like a loon, and instead sits down in front of Ron, leaning back against his chest._

_“Oi, mate. You’re obstructing my ability to open presents,” Ron tells him, though he makes no move to actually try and get Harry to change positions. Rather, he reaches over and deposits a small present in Harry’s lap, and somehow still manages to easily begin opening his own presents._

_It’s not long before there is a huge pile of gifts to their left, and a seemingly endless parade of ribbons and bows and scraps of red and gold wrapping paper scattered around the small room._

_Harry is lying on his side, facing the blazing fire and a glittering Christmas tree, with Ron spooned up behind him - his long arms and legs wrapped around Harry like he were a precious gift._

_With Ron’s warmth behind him, with his entire presence surrounding him, Harry feels almost overwhelmed. It’s at times like these that he thinks, no matter what he had to go through to get here, he’s still the luckiest man alive._

_It’s times like these he knows exactly what it feels like to be one of those people, the ones who really matter. It’s when he knows not only what it feels like to be one of those people, but what it feels like to love someone so worthy and full of love it can’t help but trickle back to him. With every touch, every laugh, every kiss, and every smile, Harry feels more loved than the day before. He feels Ron’s love in his actions, so much stronger than any words could be._

_It’s that love, that unassuming and undemanding tenderness that helps him understand that it isn’t words or cards or gifts or shiny things or any of that other _stuff__ that matters. Sure, it’s fun and it makes Christmas seem more like, well, Christmas. That’s not what really matters though. Those aren’t the things that really make a difference.

When it really comes down to it, Harry knows that the only thing that ever really mattered on Christmas, or ever really, and the only thing that really made him feel like he mattered too was Ron.

It’s always been Ron.


End file.
